


Birthday Celebrations

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-02 01:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17878295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: Greg has a special surprise for Mycroft on his birthday.





	Birthday Celebrations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anglofile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglofile/gifts).



Mycroft stood in the open door that led out to his terrace and into the garden, suit jacket still in hand, which he had planned to leave on the back of his armchair, but then the sweet aroma of the sun-warmed grass and the soft bird song that had spilled in had distracted him. He didn’t remember leaving the door open, so he had walked over, cautious, but curious. 

The walled garden that belonged to his townhouse wasn’t all that large, but it was well-kept by a gardener, who came in once a week. One large tree spread its branches out over most of it, making the lawn below a soft surface of mottled sunshine, inviting greens and yellows. The flowers were in full bloom, emitting an almost sickly sweet smell that blanketed everything. It was a lovely sight that Mycroft enjoyed far too little of.

But right now another, even more lovely sight, commanded his attention. Greg Lestrade stood under the tree, next to a blanket that featured an actual picnic basket and a cooler that contained a large bottle of champagne, of which Greg held two glasses in his hands. Greg, wonderful, gorgeous, mesmerising Greg was in his garden in a setting that was fit for flowery romance novels. All that was missing were the rose petals on the wind.

Mycroft swallowed hard. He dropped his jacket on one of the chairs that stood on the terrace and came to rest on the edge of the paved area, hands on his hips.

“You know I always figured your birthday would be in December or something. Whisky by the fire, walks in the snow, grumbling about the excessive Christmas cheer,” Greg said and raised one of the glasses he was holding. “What a pleasant surprise it was when I found out that your birthday is in the middle of July.”

“Whoever told you?” Mycroft asked, wanted to make it sound vaguely threatening, which was hard with the smile that already played around the edges of his mouth.

“I don’t want to condemn anyone to Siberia. Come over here before the bubbly gets warm?”

“Bubbly?” Mycroft huffed a laugh.

“It’s good, no matter what you call it.”

Mycroft shook his head, lifted a foot, but Greg stopped him by clearing his throat. Mycroft looked up, confusedly.

“No shoes and socks,” he said and lifted his own bare foot from the grass.

“Why are you here, Gregory?” Mycroft asked, hesitating. “You’re not… we’re not…”

“It’s your birthday and the weather is beautiful. Does there need to be another reason?”

“Yes,” Mycroft replied, his voice wavering slightly. “No one does anything for me without a reason.”

“I do have a selfish reason, yes. I would very much like to make you drunk off champagne, feed you fresh raspberries and make you drop your guard so far that you won’t have me assassinated when I tell you that I love you.”

Mycroft’s world made a sharp turn to the left, so sudden that he almost lost his balance. He felt his ears growing red. How many times had he imagined that Greg would say something like that when they were joking, laughing over a glass of wine. How many times had he imagined himself blurting out his feelings, always too shy, too blinded by the brilliance of Greg’s smile. Too afraid to lose this effortless connection that they shared.

He toed off his shoes and flung them out on the lawn, together with the socks. As his toes dug into the fluffy grass he sighed with contentment, crossing the few feet that separated them still. But for all his eagerness and longing, his nervous anxiety caught up with him as he came close to Greg, to the reality of this moment. Greg didn’t look less nervous than him, but he held out the glass nonetheless, and Mycroft took it, their fingers brushing past each other on purpose, the slight touch hot and electric. Mycroft shivered.

“Happy Birthday, Mycroft,” Greg said and they clinked their glasses. “To everything that makes you… amazingly you.”

“Greg…” Mycroft all but whispered, lost for words.

Greg just smiled and took a sip. Mycroft mirrored him. They both closed their eyes briefly in appreciation of the gentle flavour. Mycroft wondered if Greg’s lips would taste like the champagne now, or if they would still be uniquely him… In an impulsive motion he downed the rest of the liquid and threw the glass in the bushes, then reached for Greg’s and made it fly into the same direction. He gripped Greg by his shoulders and backed him up into the trunk of the tree, until he could press him against the rough bark, their bodies closely aligned, touching in all the right places. Greg groaned as Mycroft pressed against him, his hands immediately wandering to Mycroft’s hips.

“I love you,” Mycroft whispered, their faces a mere inch apart. “I’ve loved you for months.”

“Oh, thank Christ,” Greg exhaled and gripped Mycroft tighter. “This could’ve really–”

Greg was cut off by Mycroft’s lips against his, an insistent, but still somehow hesitant press that wasn’t much more than a simple contact, but it lit Mycroft’s world on fire. He felt himself melt into Greg’s body, groaning against his lips, and when he felt Greg’s tongue against his skin he moaned and let him gain entry. Their hands wandered as they traded gentle affections that grew bolder and hotter by the second. Greg cursed into Mycroft’s mouth as he felt the other’s erection press against his leg, and Mycroft cursed in turn when Greg pressed back.

“Blanket, now,” Greg huffed and pushed Mycroft back.

He unceremoniously cleared it of the basket and few other items that were strewn about and laid Mycroft down gently. The lawn underneath them was so lush that Mycroft felt like he was bedded on the softest cotton and he sighed contently as he put down his head, stretched on the ground, the earlier urgency almost forgotten.

“This is heavenly,” he murmured, hands over his head, brushing the blades of grass, staring up into the gently moving leaves and the sunlight that danced on them.

“You’re heavenly,” Greg said with a laugh and dropped on the blanket next to Mycroft, put his hands on his chest. “May I?”

Mycroft nodded and Greg straddled him immediately. He quickly opened Mycroft’s shirt and exposed his skin to the warm summer breeze. Greg’s hands wandered over the uncovered skin, brushing up and down Mycroft’s sides, grazing his nipples in passing. Mycroft’s eyes were closed, his face a blissed out smile as he pushed up into Greg’s hands, who made his skin tingle and his soul sing. For a while Greg did nothing else but gently caressing Mycroft’s body, leaving goosebumps in his wake. When Mycroft finally opened his eyes, he could see Greg smile down at him with so much love that it almost took his breath away.

“I love you,” Greg whispered then, leaned down and brushed his nose past Mycroft’s, then captured his lips in another kiss. “I want you.”

Mycroft’s whole body broke out in pleasant shivers as Greg’s admission flowed through his veins like fire. His cock twitched and filled out again, and he pressed himself upwards against Greg, who moaned in turn, grinding down.

“Fuck yes,” Greg growled. “I want to ride you like this, right here. Please.”

“Everything you want, my love,” Mycroft breathed. “Let me have you.”

“Yes,” Greg hissed.

There was something liberating about shedding your clothes outside, like this. The air was warm and the sunlight wandered over their skin as it was uncovered, like the warm fingers of a lover. Mycroft felt almost dizzy with excitement, his hands brushing over Greg’s body as if he wanted to learn it by heart. Greg kneeled over him now, one hand behind himself, his face distorted in pleasure as he prepared himself. Mycroft’s heart threatened to burst, both his own hands on Greg’s face, drawing him down for yet another sweet, sweet kiss that seemed to fill him up completely. Then Greg’s hand wandered further and as he slicked Mycroft’s cock, the man groaned in anticipation. Greg’s hand was rougher than his own, felt so different on him. So right. He gripped Greg’s forearm, fingers digging into the muscles.

“Ready?” Greg asked softly.

Mycroft nodded. But maybe he hadn’t been, because there was nothing in the world that could’ve prepared him for the sublime beauty that was Greg Lestrade sinking down on him in the golden light of the now sinking sun, his aborted moans, the way his eyes were screwed shut in pleasure, mouth open as he panted through the burn. Mycroft wished he could stop time at this moment, this perfect moment in which he entered Greg’s body for the first time, the heat that enveloped him and the strong thighs that squeezed his own, the fingers that were entwined with his own, grasping ever stronger.

Then Greg was fully seated and released a deep breath. He smiled down at Mycroft, brought one of his hands to his mouth to kiss his knuckles.

“I love you,” he said, his voice deep and gravely, full of arousal.

“Move,” Mycroft said and Greg complied.

He put both hands on Mycroft’s chest and raised himself once, slowly, testing. As he dropped, Mycroft almost shouted. When he dropped again, he did. He didn’t care if anyone should hear them. This was their moment, their perfect moment. Greg seemed in agreement, moans and gasps escaping him with every movement, no matter how small. Mycroft watched him fuck himself, drank up his noises like a parched man, saw how Greg’s skin turned red from exertion, the sweat that accumulated on it. He let his hands wander to Greg’s hips and pulled him down harder and harder.

“Fuck…” Greg muttered. “I need…”

Mycroft growled. He threw Greg over on his back, much to his surprise, but lost no time to push back in. The change in angle made Greg scream and everything ended much too soon. Mycroft had no regrets. He had never seen anything as beautiful as Greg’s face crying out in pleasure, and he chased that feeling relentlessly. Greg could only take it, soon spilling over his own chest, whimpering weakly. Mycroft pulled out so his release joined Greg’s, coming almost silently in comparison to Greg.

Greg looked wrecked. Absolutely wrecked underneath him. Mycroft glowed with a strange sort of pride. He looked down and grinned, then took his tongue to Greg’s stomach to lick at their combined release.

“Oh fuck…” Greg groaned and buried his hands in Mycroft’s hair. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“You’ll have the decency to not die on my birthday, at least,” Mycroft admonished him, licking his lips, then turning back toward Greg’s skin.

“If you continue this I can make no promises.”

“Hush now,” Mycroft said with a smile. “Let me have my present the way I want it.”

“I love you, you ridiculous man.”

“I love you too…”


End file.
